Decisions to be Made
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: After listening to Barty creep into their apartment for not the first time that week, Regulus knows that he needs to confront him.


**Written For:**

\- QLFC Round 13: Real Randomness/Phrases - 'he rejected their very essence'.

\- September Event: (word) Confession, (dialogue) "You look like hell." / "Yeah? I just got back."

 **W.C:** 938

* * *

Regulus pretended to be asleep as his boyfriend slipped quietly back into their shared apartment. It was well after midnight, and only the third time of the week that he had crawled in during the dead of the night.

As Barty sat down heavily on the bed beside Regulus, the scent of dirt and something coppery burned his nostrils. He rolled over, staring at Barty's back. He was shirtless and sporting several deep, oozing wounds across his shoulder blades. "Barty!" Regulus cried, bolting upright in the bed. "You look like hell!"

Barty groaned audibly and glared at the ceiling. "Yeah? I just got back. Look, I thought you were asleep. You're normally asleep at this time."

"No, I'm not," Regulus murmured, edging towards Barty to get a closer look at his wounds. "It just makes you feel better if you _think_ I'm asleep. Is there anything I can do?" He reached for his wand, which lay upon the bedside table.

Barty shook his head when he spotted the wand. "The wound is magical. It won't heal with magic. I just need to dress it."

Acting in silence, Regulus climbed out of bed and fetched their first-aid kit. It was a useless item that had been sitting in the apartment since they began renting it—with magic at their beck and call they had no real need to manually fix their ailments. He dusted the cobwebs away from the green box and unlatched it. A small bottle of antiseptic rolled around in one of the crevices, and Regulus managed to unearth some bandage and dressing tape.

Barty flinched as Regulus dabbed a small amount of the antiseptic to the worst of his wounds, but he grit his teeth and made no noise. Carefully, Regulus pressed a wad of gauze to the wound and secured it with tape, before placing the first-aid kit on the floor beside the bed. Barty slipped under the sheets, reaching out to switch off the lamp. Once they were under the cover of darkness, Regulus dared to speak.

"Barty," he whispered, stretching a hand across the bed. His fingertips grazed Barty's neck, and he shivered in response. "What happened to you?"

"I can't say."

"You have to."

"I'm sorry, Regulus."

"For the love of Merlin, tell me right now!" Regulus's wobbly voice reached an abnormal pitch, and Barty sighed. "You have to tell me. You're _hurt_."

"You wouldn't want to hear it."

"It's them, isn't it?" Regulus's voice was barely a breath. "The Death Eaters."

Barty was silent.

oOo

Regulus was plagued with terrors throughout the night. He tossed and turned until the sheets were rumpled and sticking to his sweat-soaked skin. His hair was plastered to his head, and every time he opened his eyes, he expected to see Barty in a state of disrepair. He dreamt of those ugly great wounds stretching and snaking around his waif-like body, splitting his skin until he was just a gory, quivering pile of blood and pus.

He finally woke with a jolt just as the sun was rising, his hands grappling madly at the sheets beside him. When he couldn't grab hold of anything, he sat up and raked a hand through his damp hair. "Barty?"

Over by the window, Barty sat in the armchair, gazing out at the sunrise. He was still shirtless and still had the bandage securely fixed to his back. There was a dark patch oozing through the gauze, and Regulus cringed. He knew that Barty was going to have to get professional help.

"I have a confession to make." Barty spoke more to the window than to Regulus. Regulus sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, gazing forlornly at his boyfriend. He wanted nothing more than to listen to Barty's confession, to help him. He would do _anything_ for him. "I am becoming a Death Eater."

Regulus's eyes flickered to Barty's bare forearms. He could see no sign of the dark mark which Death Eaters were so well known to be branded with. "You haven't…"

"I haven't taken the oath yet," continued Barty. "The Dark Lord doesn't trust me yet, because of my father and his work to prevent the rise of dark forces. That's why I am sometimes punished," Barty shifted his shoulders, gesturing to the wound on his back. "They give me lashes to ensure that I will remain faithful to the Dark Lord, even under threat of imminent pain."

"Barty," Regulus whispered, horrified.

"It is what it is," Barty answered. "And it is what it shall be."

"You're making no sense," Regulus sounded strangled. He knew all about the Dark Lord and his vile following—after all, his own cousin had sworn herself to be the most faithful to him, and many of his family members were following in their footsteps. His parents had proclaimed their interest in the Dark Lord though Regulus knew them to be far too cowardly to actually swear fealty to him.

Personally, Regulus had no desire to become a Death Eater, even though Bellatrix had tried to persuade him. _'The Dark Lord needs more of our pure family on his side, Regulus,'_ she had purred, with a voice as smooth as honey. It was the kind of voice that got her whatever she wanted.

But Regulus secretly hated the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. He rejected their very essence, and every missive that they stood for.

"If you join me," Barty continued. "Everything will be okay. We'll have the Dark Lord's protection."

Regulus looked at the floor, feeling tears trickling down his cheeks. No matter what, he would have a decision to make.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!** If you want to follow my progress, please like my Facebook page, Screaming Faeries. Link can be found on my profile page!


End file.
